


Without Flinching

by Quinntessentially



Category: Hustle
Genre: (kind of), But also, Communication, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Miscommunication, the ideal romance: grifter and backup grifter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28133190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinntessentially/pseuds/Quinntessentially
Summary: Mickey shrugs, tilts his head. Ash carefully doesn’t notice the long line of his neck, the way it pulls his collar down just a fraction of an inch. Just like he never does. Being a good fixer is two-thirds noticing everything and one-third ignoring everything. Although mostly, of course, it’s about being good at making friends and keeping them. Even when you want to jump their bones.
Relationships: Ash Morgan/Mickey Stone
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Without Flinching

**Author's Note:**

> title from _Pedal_ by Jenny Johnson. i'm pretty sure it's canonical that ash and june are divorced but it case it isn't: ash and june are divorced

“Danny found us a mark,” Mickey says. Ash doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being in awe of how easily he commands a room, but it’s well-worn enough to be unremarkable. Unobtrusive. “She’s a pharmacist who buys her drugs from black market sources. Not a lot of attention to medical safety standards. Even better, she’s got a passion for American literature. First editions.”

“So she’s greedy,” Stacie chips in. “Anything else?”

Mickey shrugs, tilts his head. Ash carefully doesn’t notice the long line of his neck, the way it pulls his collar down just a fraction of an inch. Just like he never does. Being a good fixer is two-thirds noticing everything and one-third ignoring everything. Although mostly, of course, it’s about being good at making friends and keeping them. Even when you want to jump their bones.

“And where does she hang out?” Danny asks, a little smug and a lot rhetorical. “Posh clubs. Lots of backroom dealing.”

“Quite,” Mickey says. “Which reminds me. Ash, can you get us suits? I think our old ones are getting threadbare.”

“Easy as anything.” Ash crosses his legs on the couch, leans back. “And you need a book to push, I assume?”

Albert chimes in, “I hear she’s got a weakness for Faulkner.” He taps his nose. “Word on the street, you know.”

“Great,” Mickey says. “So Albert, you rope her in. Danny and I will be the convincers. Stace, you run back-up, and Ash, you run logistics. Sound good?”

There’s a general murmur of consensus and then the dispersal. Ash stays sitting and pulls his computer toward him. He’s got a few calls to make, and maybe a signature to forge, and his design software’s been on the fritz again. Not to mention updating their budgeting spreadsheet, because Stace likes to keep a tight hand on their finances. He cracks his laptop on the coffee table, leans forward, and gets to work. It’s easy to let the time slip away from him for once while he spools the bones of a con together without a deadline. 

“Ash,” says Mickey. He’s looming in a very unselfconscious manner, sounding a touch concerned. He must not have left with everyone else, because Ash didn’t hear the door open.

“What’s up?” Ash says. He shakes his head to clear it, but doesn’t look up from his laptop. Mickey doesn’t need eye contact to read him like a book, and it’s nice to have the distraction from the weight of Mickey’s expecting gaze.

Mickey sits down next to him on the couch, just edging inside the personal bubble Ash keeps for his own sanity. Sanity’s never much applied when it comes to Mickey, though. 

“Just thought you might appreciate the company,” Mickey says. “Danny’s coming along nicely.” 

Ash doesn’t throw Mickey a capital-G glance, but it’s a near thing. “He had a good teacher.”

“A good teacher knows when their pupils are done learning.”

“Danny’s got a lot left to learn,” Ash says. He peers a little harder at the headline he’s putting together. 

Mickey leans back a little on the couch, and now their knees are brushing in the middle of an emotionally fraught conversation which is just. Just so helpful to Ash’s concentration. “Really more of a question of whether he’s willing to learn. Birds leave the nest before they know how to fly.”

“He’s a fool if he leaves,” Ash says with — with maybe a bit too much feeling, if the way Mickey’s eyes gleam is any indication. 

“Yes, well. No one ever accused Danny of being coolheaded.” Mickey leans back and pulls out a book. “I’ve got some brushing up on American literature of the early twentieth century to do.”

The unfortunate part is that Ash doesn’t really mind how close Mickey’s sitting now. It’s more the yearning in his gut for Mickey to maybe sit a little closer, maybe lean in until their mouths are — Ash yanks himself back in. He’s got spreads to design, and the Independent’s started using a new body font that he really doesn’t recognize at all. 

Somehow, the situation devolves into comfortable silence, the rustle of a turned page and the clack of keyboard keys. The omnipresent warmth of Mickey against his side, their legs creeping closer until they’re pressed against one another, body heat seeping through Ash’s chinos. 

And then his phone rings. “Hello?” Ash asks. “Oh, Jeremy, haven’t heard from you in ages! What can I do for you?” he mouths at Mickey, who shrugs. 

Jeremy, it turns out, needs someone who can get him high-quality cotton-linen blend paper.

And then — sometimes Ash forgets that the bad part about knowing everyone is that everyone also knows you. After the fourth call in two hours, Mickey finally leaves. There’s a cold spot all along Ash’s side as he waves Mickey goodbye. 

His cell phone rings again. Ash takes a deep breath through his nose and flips it open. “Hello?”

“Hey, Three-Socks,” comes a female voice. Ash takes a second to check the caller ID: Jennifer from the casino. Nice bird, if Ash recalls correctly. Did him a good turn with some quick poker chips one time. He’s seen her at a couple afterparties. The voice continues, “How are you doing?”

Ash doesn’t have time to bother with small talk right now. He’s somehow got to pull together a first-edition Faulkner in the next, oh, seven hours. “What’s going on?”

“You know I wouldn’t ask if I had any other option…”

Ash scrubs a hand down his face. “Just tell me and I’ll see if I can do it or not.”

“I need you to be my date to a gala the Gold Dove is hosting.”

He might need a second to process that one. And then — a couple details slot into place: a scribbled phone number, a passing joke late at night. “Hang on,” he says. “Aren’t you a lesbian?”

“Yeah,” Jennifer says. “And I think my bosses are getting suspicious of it. So. You in?”

“I’ve got a few people I need to ask first,” Ash hedges. “When’s the thing?”

“It’s a charity gala, hosted in… oh, about a week. I thought I’d ask ahead.” There’s definitely a touch of relief in her tone, now. 

“I’ll let you know by… say Tuesday?” Ash says. “I’d love to know why a casino’s doing anything for charity.”

“Thank you _so much_ ,” Jennifer says. “You’re a lifesaver. Job saver. Truly.”

“Yeah,” says Ash. “Talk to you.” 

He flips his phone shut and stares blankly out the window in front of him. Something else to mark down on his calendar, he guesses. But there’s still the first edition to procure, which probably means calling up One-Eye Stu, and if there’s anyone who drives a hard bargain it’s a man with nothing to lose except his other eye. 

*

“You want to do _what?_ ” Mickey asks, a few days later. There’s a worrying amount of disbelief in the phrase.

Ash winces. Breaking this was never going to go well, but he really was hoping that if he caught Mickey right after a successful con, when they’re flush with cash, it might go alright. Evidently not.

“I want to go to the Gold Dove’s charity gala. It’ll be a great place to scope out a mark, and I’ve a date with tickets already.” Ash keeps his face as soft as he can, very _nothing to see here!_ It works great on people who aren’t Mickey Stone. 

Mickey’s face doesn’t move at all. “Yes, you mentioned.”

“Mick,” Ash starts. He doesn’t even know where he’s going with the sentence when Mickey cuts him off. 

“Fine. Find us a mark, tell Albert about it. Have a lovely time with your date.” And then he does the heel turn that Ash is pretty sure he spent time practicing in the mirror when he was younger. Mickey disappears out the door and, like always, Ash watches him go. 

Now, of course, there’s the conversation he’s been dreading. He’d love to do it over the phone, but June deserves better. Deserves so much better than the hand she’s been dealt, him included. She knows it too.

There’s… he feels like he ought to go see here, but maybe that impulse is self-serving. God — Ash doesn’t know, but if he has to wait the whole Tube ride to the long term care facility, he’s absolutely going to lose his nerve. He’s got her number on speed-dial. It’s the work of a second, and then the phone is ringing.

“Could you please direct me to June? June Bellerman.” You live under a fake name, you die under a fake name. Grifting takes everything.

“Of course, sir,” says the attendant. They’ve never changed the redirect music. It gets stuck in his head all the time. 

The phone line clicks through. “Hi, June,” Ash says. “It’s me.”

“Oh, hello,” June says. It’s fifty-fifty whether she remembers where she is at this point, but maybe he’s caught her on a good day. “How is the —” she whispers dramatically “— the _con_ going?”

“It went well,” Ash says. “Just wanted to tell you, I’ve been thinking.” 

He told himself a long time ago that he wasn’t going to lie to June, but he’s not going to out Jennifer. Not even to June. He’s had an outing happen to him — they were about half right, as it turns out — and he wouldn’t wish the resulting broken bones on anyone. 

“Yes, dear?” June says.

“I’ve been thinking about dating again,” Ash says. There. Not a lie. “And I want you to — when you get better — you can, you should do the same.”

“Oh,” says June. “Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all,” Ash says. “Unless you want to hear me complain about the milkman, that’s all.”

“I keep saying you should give him a chance,” June says. “I’ve never met a milkman I didn’t like. And the other thing?” She makes a little _pff!_ sound, the way she always used to when she was amused. “I don’t care at all, dear. Not really my place. I almost assumed you were dating again already, ha.”

“Yeah, well. Just thought I’d ask.” Ash breathes in then out, clears the tension from his chest. “How’ve you been?”

The rest of the conversation flows freely, laughingly. Even if he can’t be married to June, well. She still has a piece of his heart. A large fraction of his available trust. She probably always will. 

But — he can do Jennifer a good turn. He figures he ought to do a few more of those, even it out for all the people who’ve given him something first. 

It’s a few days until the gala. He’s still got a decent suit (legally purchased, even) so that’s all squared away. If only he could figure out why something in his stomach is still flipping over and over. Ash idly spins his phone around, lets the squeak of his fingers on the plastic ground him. It’s almost three p.m., and most of the supplies they need will be in place by now. Any moment until the rest of the crew shows up.

Speak of the devil. The elevator dings outside, muffled but true. Then the clack of a key in the lock.

Mickey walks back in, sucks all the air out of the room. There’s a stony set to his face and Ash reminds himself that there’s no pressure on his lungs. “Ash! How good are you with plumbing?”

“Not great, but I can get there,” says Ash, easy as breathing. And then he thinks about Mickey’s tight smile, and how the room still feels like there’s no oxygen, and how June thought he might have been dating someone already, and he thinks _Oh. Shit_.

“Good.” Mickey’s turning to their slide projector. “I found us a mark, as it turns out, so you don’t have to go to the gala. Not really your scene, anyway.”

The air’s caught in Ash’s throat all of a sudden. “I still need to go to it,” he says. “I’m doing it as a favor. To the girl, you know.”

It’s only because he’s known Mickey for years upon years, but Ash can spot the tension in Mickey’s shoulders. The little possessive streak that runs over all the crew, running over him, now. He shivers under the weight of it. 

“Oh,” Mickey says. His tone hasn’t changed perceptibly, but his whole body looks lighter now. “As a favor?”

“Well, yeah,” Ash says. “She needs a date to a thing to convince her bosses that she’s not a lesbian.” The obvious follow-up question is _so, is she a lesbian?_ but thank god for Mickey’s sense of tact.

“Well. It would be fine if it wasn’t a favor,” Mickey says. He adjusts his tie knot in what is, for Mickey, a spectacularly obvious tell. 

“Yeah,” says Ash, a seed of something pricking at the back of his mind. “You know, June’s been telling me I should get back to dating.”

And Ash knew that Mickey gets less guarded when it’s just the two of them, when there’s nobody to impress or be judged by or whose money he needs, but.

It’s not every day you see Mickey Bricks flinch. 

The room is silent except for the sound of a distant siren, and the humming of the dishwasher. Ash can see Mickey’s shoulders rise and fall, but he can’t hear his breath to tell if it’s rough or not. There’s a bubble in Ash’s chest made of something close to euphoria, half a step from madness. He waits, and Mickey’s shoulders rise up and down. 

“I’m the leader of this crew,” Mickey starts. “Not anything else. I have no say over what you do in your… personal life.”

“You could have a little say, though,” Ash says. It’s starting to feel awfully like he has one over on Mickey, like he sees where this is going when Mickey can’t. 

“I wouldn’t presume —”

“Mickey.” Ash isn’t sure when Mickey stopped looking at him, but he feels warm in his gut when he turns his eyes up to look at him. “Is the reason you don’t want me to be Jennifer’s date to the gala because you want me to be your date.”

“Hold on,” Mickey says, but he’s nodding and Ash can barely pay attention to the rest of what he’s saying. “Was this a set-up? I knew it was too— too picture-perfect. _Convenient_. You’re having me on —”

He keeps on trying to talk, but Ash just sort of smashes their mouths together. It couldn’t really be described as pleasant, except for how Ash suspects they’ve both wanted to do this for a long while. He pulls back to breathe. “Not having you on.”

“Well yes, I can see that now.” And this time it’s Mickey who reels Ash back in for a much gentler kiss. There’s a little bit of fumbling with angles, noses bumping and then their lips are sealed together just right and Ash stops paying attention to much of anything.

That is, of course, when the door creaks open with the rest of the crew behind it. Ash pulls his head back so quickly he thinks he might get whiplash, but both their mouths are reddish and Mickey must’ve gotten a hand in Ash’s hair at some point because he can feel it morphing into a bird nest.

“What do we have here?” Danny asks, loud, showboaty, a little vicious. And for a cold second Ash thinks that now is when it goes horribly south. Maybe now is when he gets cold-cocked again for being too queer. Maybe now’s when the prodigal son decides that the family’s a little too unnatural for him.

But Stace yells, “I think we have a couple of lovebirds!” and when Danny turns to look at her Ash sees her mouth _be cool_ and then jerk her finger in front of her throat. Albert catches him by the shoulder, a second after, and whispers something in his ear. 

Just like that all the tension goes out of Danny and his shoulders drop. “Yeah, whatever. Congratulations.”

They might not keep Danny forever, but hey. They’ve got him for one more con. 

Mickey coughs. “Thanks, all.”

Albert just says, hand still firmly on Danny’s shoulder, “It’s about damn time.”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed!! please leave kudos and/or comments bc i like the serotonin and it helps me write more


End file.
